The Convergence of the Twain
In a solitude of the sea deep hearts are drowned, While in foam-touched shores and restless tides flow bloom, Among the hands of change a pureness may sound, And in the dark there gathered joy in womb.
Borne far within reptilian widths where tongues are frail, The music of love sealing and unhallowed laid— Where beauty doth now stalk on glimmering of pale!
- Thomas Hardy